


No Roads Left

by HaleyProtega282



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety, Depression, Don't try this at home kids, Eating Disorders, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Light needs a hug, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, More issues than National Geographic, POV Yagami Light, Sad, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Spiralling, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, What is the meaning of life?, Why Did I Write This?, Why would you read this?, Yagami Light-centric, compulsive overexercise, hoo boi, kinda OOC, lemme know if i missed any tags, more triggers than a gun store, seriously though, set after the Lind L. Tailor incident but before L suspects Light, this is basically a compendium of unhealthy coping mechanisms, this is so edgy you can use it as a razor, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28027800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaleyProtega282/pseuds/HaleyProtega282
Summary: Light is not okay. Losing the Death Note can have that effect. Especially if one’s sanity was fragile to begin with.FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GREEN AND GROWING, READ THE TAGS. If you are easily triggered, maybe this isn’t the fic for you. Stay safe. <3
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	No Roads Left

**Author's Note:**

> Title from No Roads Left by Linkin Park.  
> soundtrack:  
> https://youtu.be/PNcqobzN1lY  
> https://youtu.be/tfY4OfUXiYU

41 days.

41 days since he lost the death note ( _stupidstupidstupid_ ). Which means he’s no longer in possession of it. No longer Kira. _No, I’ll get it back. I’ll find it._ Even if the chances were dwindling with each passing day.

Ryuk had laughed himself hoarse that first day. It was just terrible luck, really. That his backpack snagged on the railing and fell three floors down, its contents spilling everywhich way. ( _Careless, you were careless_.) And by the time he got down, the note was gone. On a goddamn bus terminal. Whoever took it could be anywhere by now.

L must be gloating, wherever the bastard is. The Kira murders just stopped, the case taking care of itself. It made Light’s blood boil, that he couldn’t show him up. And his clues were going cold: there seemed to be no unexplained heart attack deaths that he could find, and not for lack of trying. He’d collected information of every deceased he could dig up, compared them for patterns, anything that connected them. But to no end.

 _You should’ve found it by now. Some God of the New World you are._ The voice in the back of his head wouldn’t shut up. _Arrogance, Yagami. Your hubris has cost you._ He runs a hand over his face. He’s been in a bad place for too long and he can’t snap out of it. Like his energy got drained and lost along with the blasted note. _Not who you used to be. Not Kira anymore. You could have been great, could have changed the world. And now you’re just wasting time. Get it together already._

Still, there was enough energy left in him for overthinking. Enough to make him restless. _Just not enough to do what you need to_ , the voice chided. He’d been catching up on schoolwork all morning; still an A-student, but barely – his test scores no longer 100%. _Losing it, you’re losing there too. A disappointment to your family._

He presses the pencil tip into his palm, the sharp pain grounding him in reality and out of his head, letting out a shaky breath. _It could leave a mark, people could see. Have to keep up appearances. Expectations, expectations, so much depending on him. Have to keep it together._ He opens his eyes, not remembering when he even closed them and opens the news site to look for clues.

***

42 days.

Light stares at the flickering street light as he waits for Mikami to open the door. He’d met the other boy in the debate club, quickly learning that he was a Kira supporter, and forming a sort of friendship. If Light could be said to have friends. But lately, with everything having gone downhill, it’s been… more than that. …Okay they were kind of dating.

Mikami was just so easy to be around. Unlike everyone else in his life, Mikami didn’t put any pressure on him – he adored him purely for existing, and Light needed that right now. Needed that reassurance, comfort, closeness, whatever it was between them. _Especially now that he fucked up his chance to change the world. – No, no, there’s still time, he can turn this around._ Although doubts were starting to creep in on that. _He’s Light Yagami, goddamnit. Overachiever. Perfectionist. He can, and he will._

His thoughts are interrupted as the door swings open, revealing a bright smile he can’t help but mirror, if only for a second. The gloominess that’s been following him lately weighs on him, his features slipping into a more melancholic expression.

“What’s wrong?”, Mikami asks, perceptive as always, as they walk to his room. He’s home alone often.

“Nothing, Teru.”, Light lies, used to maintaining composure, his mask for the world. _Never let them see weakness, nothing less than perfection._ At the dubious look he gets, he amends, “I don’t want to talk right now.”, closing the distance between them. His mind has been exhausting lately, he just wants to get out of his head for a while. To stop thinking, and just feel. Feel the softness of lips against his own, hair under his fingers, get lost in the scent of the room and the faint light of dusk slipping through the window.

***

43 days.

A week is a long time. A week is a very long time. Because schedules were apparently invented in a special part of hell, he has to wait another 6 days before he can meet his boyfriend again. Boyfriend. He’s still not used to that word. It doesn’t sit right in his mind, doesn’t quite cover it.

He’s lost in a reverie, only half paying attention to the class, answering a question every now and then. His mind is replaying a part of yesterday, overanalysing and overthinking. How time just slipped away when he’d talk to Teru; they have a lot in common, they get along well. He’d been through things… Light hates depending on anyone but he can’t stop himself from caring about him. Maybe, maybe he could even love him, with time. Time. That’s all he needs – time to find the note, pull himself together, fix everything. He can do it. He –

He hears the tail-end of a question the lecturer asked, but not enough to know what it was about. _Damnit!_ Another student replies, and he bites his tongue because he knew that. _You’re slipping up. No longer best, not perfect anymore. Disgrace._

He listens to Coldplay's _Viva La Vida_ on repeat.

***

51 days.

The search for the note is going nowhere, he scored only third-best on the last exam, and he hasn’t slept well in days. _You have important work to do, and you’re going to lazy around and sleep? There’s research to be done._ He’d checked out two possible leads that seemed statistically off, but both turned out useless. _Useless, that’s what you are._

He’s restless. He hasn’t enough energy to keep looking, to keep studying, but nevertheless, energy enough to berate himself. He wants to get rid of it. Tear out whatever is still keeping him awake and be numb for a while.

“Light, do you want something to eat?”, his mother asks, peering through the door.

God, he can’t even think about food right now, his stomach twisted up in knots. “No, I’m not hungry.”

“Alright, let me know if you change your mind.” He musters up a tight smile, then listens to her footsteps as she walks away.

He needs to do something, he feels like the world is rushing past him and he’s not catching up. Everything is happening too fast, he’s running out of time. Running out… Mechanically, he throws on a hoodie and sweatpants and runs out, finding the track along the river near his house.

The cold wind hits his face, bringing tears to his eyes and pulling him into the present. Focusing on the here and now, on moving his legs, on the slowly building weariness that pushes out all thoughts. An hour or two later, with the muscle ache grounding him, and a soft fog around his mind, he feels more alive than he has in a long time. Drowsiness pulls him under as soon as his head hits the pillow, the voice blissfully quiet for once.

***

67 days.

Mikami’s a nice guy, he shouldn’t waste his time with Light. Light, who will always prioritize his schemes. Light, whose obsession with his vision, his mission, will always come first. There’s hardly room for others when your mind is full of grand designs. Still, Light knows he’s selfish – he won’t give this up. And his moral compass may be a roulette wheel, but what little conscience he has is telling him he shouldn’t be leading him on like this.

_Liar. You lie to everyone. Can’t confide in your family, can’t ever be yourself. He’ll see through your act eventually. See you’re really just a fake. A failure._

He’s running on empty, so tired of everything. What happened to him? He used to be better than this.

He scrambles for a distraction. His homework is done, he’s already checked the news. He goes to help Sayu with her homework, which ends up only taking about 10 minutes – the girl isn’t at all stupid, merely lazy. Then she starts droning on about some pop-star and Light is so bored out of his mind he chooses to return to his room. God, if he spoke his mind they’d fight on a daily basis.

_Can’t confide in your family. They’ll never understand you. No one will ever understand you. No one will see the real you._

He runs his hand through his hair, wishing it would stop. He doesn’t want to think about this. The running shoes call out to him from the corner of the room, promising the dull buzz of feeling nothing. Zen, nirvana, whatever other name they had for it, it’s there, and it’s his. He grabs his headphones too – it’ll be a while.

***

70 days.

L just solved a major case in America. Well good for fucking L. Light paces his room furiously, wishing he could put his fist through L. Or at least his own wall. No, he’d break his hand. _So? It’s not like you write names anymore. Not like you’re any good to the world. You’re nothing, nothing without it._

“Shut up.”, he says through clenched teeth.

“Tsk tsk, Raito, talking to yourself?”, Ryuk’s voice jolts him from his inner dialogue, the Shinigami lounging on the bed like he owned the place.

“Why are you here?”, Light asks, knowing the death god ought to be close to the notebook.

“I’m boooored”, he whines, “The new owner is such a snooze!”

“And I don’t suppose you’d tell me who that is?”, Light keeps his voice neutral, not to betray the inkling of hope against all odds.

“No can do.”

“Or where they are?”

“Nope, them’s the rules.” Ryuk shrugs and stretches lazily. “Gotta say, I thought you would’ve figured it out by now.” It’s spoken matter-of-factly, without malice, but it doesn’t change the truth of it. Light ignores the sting. He won’t let Ryuk’s complete lack of tact get to him. The death god’s so out of touch on human matters, he barely notices how it sounds. Yeah, he had thought he would find it by now as well. _Not as good as you thought, are you? Oh how the mighty have fallen, Yagami Raito._

He grits his teeth.

“So what do you want?”, he asks, absent-mindedly organising his desk (even though it’s already organised).

“Just hang out. Have some fun.”

“Having the death note back would be fun.”, he bites out.

“Jeez, don’t have to be such a party-pooper. All doom and gloom, huh?”

Of course, Ryuk only cares about his own amusement. Nevermind that Light has been out of his mind in the past two months. No, he’s not bitter. He isn’t. Not like he had any illusions of them being friends or anything.

Friends don’t ghost each other for ages.

“Ryuk, I’m busy. So if you don’t mind…”, Light says tersely. He has no intention of explaining his mental state to someone who’s incapable of comprehending nuance.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I’ll pop in tomorrow. See ya!” And with that, he’s gone, leaving Light alone with his thoughts again.

***

73 days.

Light gives the red apple a perfunctory glance before he throws it in the trash can. No, he hadn’t been secretly looking forward to seeing Ryuk the next day. He definitely didn’t care that his supernatural companion obviously forgot. He’s Light Yagami, he doesn’t get attached. It would have been pathetic to miss someone’s company just because they knew all your secrets and plans. Whatever. _Liar, you lie even to yourself._

His mother grouses about how he should sleep more because he has bags under his eyes. Light rambles something about anemia affecting the kidneys and causing it, and assures her he sleeps enough. Amazing how eloquence and confidence can create the illusion of intelligence. _An illusion, that’s all you are. Smoke and mirrors. Failure._

His running alarm goes off at 5 am now. It’s more peaceful at dawn when the riverside is deserted and the sun is just peering out from the horizon. _Faster. Faster. Faster._ He loses track of time, has to skip breakfast by the time he’s back in order to make it to school. He feels nauseous so he forgoes lunch too. By dinnertime he feels nothing. Nothing at all. For once, his head is quiet.

***

74 days.

It’s a foggy Saturday morning, and his parents took Sayu to some school camping trip, so Light has Mikami over to just chill. He’s still in a weird haze, but at least he’s not beating himself up so that’s nice. Screw the note anyway.

“Oh, right, I was going to show you my copy of _The Genealogy of Morals_ ”, he says as he hops off the bed to find Nietzsche’s book. Suddenly, the room spins around him and the ground leaps up, before Mikami is there, catching him before he falls.

“Thanks, Teru”, Light mumbles, disoriented and confused about this development.

“Are you okay?” He’s always asking that. Light thinks it’s rather sweet, if unnecessary. He nods.

“When did you last eat?”

Light blinks. Come to think of it, it may have been… Wednesday? Yeah, Wednesday. He’d just been so busy cramming for finals, and trying to find the notebook, and running… Huh. Well, that explains it. His brain is swimming with terms like “hypoglycemia” and “ketosis” but they refuse to cooperate and form a coherent thought.

“I just got up too fast.”, he manages finally. “Low blood pressure.” Which isn’t even a lie, he does have low blood pressure.

Huh.

***

75 days.

The majority of the Sunday floats away like cotton candy clouds or something like that, not a single sentence forming in his mind, let alone the accusing ones. It’s nice.

Until, that is, Sayu waltzes in with a plate full of mochies she made herself. The kid is practically bouncing in place, beaming with pride, and he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t try a few and compliment her cooking.

“These are all for you, mom and I are making more!”, she chirps and hops downstairs.

_You’re wasting time again. You should have pulled yourself together by now. You're a failure._

And there it is. It’s like his hyperactive conscience, or whatever else is generating these reproaches just feeds off the extra energy. Well. He’ll just have to get rid of the energy. He googles the amount of calories and calculates the running time to burn them off, setting his alarm to 4:30. Easy. At least he’s making progress on the track – beating his record of 17 kilometres that week. He should be nice and dazed soon enough.

***

81 days.

22 kilometres. Three hours. He had to walk rather than run through half of it, since his knee was really hurt, but it’s a new personal record. He starts walking to school and back, spending the train fare on multivitamins. He’s not an idiot, okay? He’s making progress. This is the one thing he’s still good at.

Mikami is saying something about how he should talk to someone. _Like a therapist? Yeah, that will be a laugh: “I’m having a crisis because of a killer notebook.”_ He laughs out loud, almost choking on his beer ( _217 calories. It’s fine, he’ll just start running at 4 am_ ).

“Are you okay?” Worried eyes blink at him. Mikami. Dear, sweet Mikami who treats Light way better than he deserves.

“I will be.”, he smirks and takes another sip. He has a feeling he’ll soon start getting lectured about the alcohol too, but right now he can’t be bothered to care. The room is spinning like his own personal carousel and he feels so light ( _hahaha no pun intended_ ) like a helium balloon that could float away. He’s pretty sure he’ll pass his exams too. _Pass? Since when do we settle for passing? You’re supposed to excel._ His mood sours at the unbidden internal criticism; it didn’t usually pipe up when he was this out of it…

***

97 days.

Kira is almost forgotten, outside the occasional throwback post or a bad joke. _This is what you’ve come down to. Nothing. Worse. Irrelevant. Inconsequential._

He toys with the razor in his hand. Nobody searches ankles for cuts. He needs the relief, the penance of pain. _You failed. You didn’t change anything. You were naïve._ “Stupid.”, he whispers.

The new owner doesn’t seem to be using the death note. How is he supposed to find something if there’s no trace? _Excuses, those are excuses._

The first crimson line glistens in the low light ( _ha!_ ).

Maybe they’re masking all the deaths as accidents? _So they’re smarter than you. Not getting the attention of a world-class detective. Not arrogant like you._

Another bright red line joins the first, and he feels the reliefs as tears prickle in his eyes. He’s numb to anything but physical pain these days, and it feels better than not feeling anything. But not feeling anything is still better than _thinking_ …The loses his train of thought, watching the blood slowly meander on his skin. A calm is setting over him, and he’s not sure if it’s time to sleep but he might.

He’s forgetting something. Maybe. It’s hard to remember, his mind is all fuzzy. A yawn escapes him. Is he forgetting something? It’s probably not important…

***

98 days.

He wakes before dawn on habit now, even heading off his alarm by a few minutes. He winces as the movement disrupts the scabs, and – oh, yeah, he was supposed to clean that up before falling asleep. _Incompetent. Those are basics. Do you want them to see?_

Bless the internet for tips on cleaning blood off the floor boards. He gets up, tired before the day even began. He probably is anemic. _Excuses. You’re running anyway._

He pulls the hoodie over his head, when he’s startled by a familiar feathery black figure appearing. “Damnit, Ryuk!”, he exclaims, his heart continuing to race like it’s going to jump right out of his ribcage. That’s been happening too much recently. And the chest pain – _Don’t be a hypochondriac, you’re too young for a heart attack. Excuses._

“Oooh, Raito, what happened to you? You used to be all –“ the Shinigami makes a movement to indicate his once-flawlessly styled hair, now sticking out all over the place. Light really doesn’t have the energy for this, Ryuk can go joke at somebody else’s expense.

“Are you going to tell me something useful?”

“Uh, actually yeah. Though not what you think.”

Light arches an eyebrow.

“Your lifespan… I can’t tell you exactly, but it’s not lookin’ too great.”

“Huh”, Light says, expressionless. “Anything else?”

“Raito, I mean really not good. I don’t want to have to write your name that soon!”

“Like you give a shit.”

Ryuk pauses, tilting his head a little. “Shinigami don’t have many friends, Raito.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” There was something sickeningly satisfying about acting like a total jerk, after years and years of mincing his words and playing nice to everyone. He’s just about had it. “Goodbye, Ryuk.”, he says finally and heads out, idly remembering that warning about the owners of the death note ending up unhappy. He can’t bring himself to feel a damn thing.

***

117 days.

95 calories in an apple

25.4 kilometres

23 cuts

“I’m fine.”

_Failure._

_Failure._

_Failure._

_._

Heart failure.

__/\\_________________________________

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you, or anyone you know is struggling, please, please, seek help. Sending you all hugs and kisses. Stay safe!  
> xoxo,  
> Haley


End file.
